


if we're strong (enough)

by thisissirius



Category: The Martian (2015)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, reconnecting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-10
Updated: 2016-12-10
Packaged: 2018-09-07 17:36:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8809891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisissirius/pseuds/thisissirius
Summary: Because that’s the thing; Chris left him behind.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tommygirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tommygirl/gifts).



> i had a lot of fun with your prompt! i tried to go where you wanted with the chris dealing with his guilt vs mark having to reacclimatise himself. it was hard to do, especially when it's chris' pov, but i had a lot of fun trying! i hope this is everything you were hoping for <3

_He’s alive._

It’s a mantra that Chris repeats to himself over and over. Even when Mark’s asleep, inches away on one of the cots, Chris is still repeating it to himself in his head, a steady beat, a fixed point.

Mark’s alive, Mark’s here.

Chris wants to kiss him, wants to curl around him and never let go. Chris wants and wants, fingers itching to touch, but he doesn’t. He keeps a steady distance between them, wraps his hand around his own wrist instead, eyes roaming over Mark’s body, cataloguing every hurt, every difference. It’s been a year, there are plenty.

Chris bites back on the urge to scream. It feels selfish to worry about the guilt currently thudding deep in his chest. It feels selfish to worry about _anything_ when Mark’s been stuck on Mars for a year.  

Chris has the easy part.

 

 

 

 

NASA tells them about Mark. _You can talk to him_ , they say, like they haven’t just ripped the hearts out of everyone on the Hermes.

Martinez does the talking because Chris can’t. They offer, Rick standing back to let him at the console, but it’s all Chris can do to keep from flaying apart in a million directions; can’t handle the thought of having to type out words to the man he _left behind._

Because that’s the thing; _Chris left him behind._

He was dead, flatlining. Gone. Only. Only he wasn’t.

Chris pinches the bridge of his nose. He thinks about Mark alone on Mars, the prospect of rescue tantalisingly close but just out of reach, and fights the nausea that rises in his throat.

_Tell Chris that I-_ Martinez reads, voice cutting off uncomfortably, and Chris can’t stand it, can’t stand the look he can see in his minds eye, the one Mark’s always wearing when he talks to Chris, _about_ Chris. Chris misses it, wants it back, but he never thought he’d get it again because Mark _died_.

Only he didn’t. Because Chris left him behind.

 

 

 

There are new scars.

Chris catalogues them all, because his job demands it, but also because he needs to know. He spent four months with a tight knot of grief hard in his stomach. Mark spent a _year_ suffering on the Red Planet and Chris needs to know the outcome. Not that Mark’s hiding.

The makeshift Medbay becomes a revolving door of crew; when they’re not working, not doing something vastly important to the continued running of the Hermes, they’re with Mark. Reassuring themselves he’s alive, maybe, or making up for lost time. Mark’s their friend, and Chris feels the press of guilt again, because he’s been making about him, always about him, when it’s about all of them.

When it’s about Mark.

 

 

 

Mark finds it difficult those first few days, reluctant to touch, eyes tracking everything at once. He’s wary, brushes all of them off at times. Chris worries about his mental health for a while, forces himself to record every sign that Mark’s come out of this whole experience with mental scars on top of his physical ones.

“Chris, I’m fine,” Mark snaps, not for the first time.

Chris digs the palms of his hands into his eyes, refuses to look at Mark. “I’m just doing my job.”

Mark sees right through him. Chris doesn’t have to be looking at him to know that’s true. There’s a long, drawn out silence where neither of them know what to say. It’s the thing he regrets the most; they used to be in synch, Chris would know in a beat what Mark meant, what Mark wanted. That’s still true to a point, but things have changed, shifted, and Chris is trying to relearn Mark, trying to figure out how they fit now, after this.

“Hey,” Mark says, frowning. He’s searching Chris’ face, like he can find what he’s looking for. Chris knows better; he’s spent Mark’s death forcing himself to hide his grief. “Come here.”

“I can’t,” Chris says, at the same time Beth appears in the doorway, smile on her face, oblivious to the tension in the room. “Beth, can you stay with Mark a while? I have to-“

Chris doesn’t explain, shoves down the voice that screams _you’re the doctor not her!_ and flees. He ignores the look on Mark’s face, the surprise on Beth’s. He’s not sure where he’s going. He doesn’t want to leave Mark, not even for a second, but he needs to get away, to run. Back to the wall, he slides down it slowly, and presses his forehead to his knees. _In. Out. In. Out._ It feels like _just after_ , with Mark’s death rattling around in his head, a staccato of failure just for him.

Mark’s the one that spent a year on Mars with no human contact, but Chris feels like he’s the one going insane.

 

 

 

“You can talk to me, you know,” Beth says, apropos nothing, as she sits down opposite him.

Chris says nothing, pushes the food around his plate. He thinks of Mark in his bunk, Rick telling ridiculous stories while he watches Mark inhale food. It’s the first day Chris has let him eat his fill, confident that Mark’s not going to suffer any more complications where food’s concerned.

“About what?” Chris asks, feigning ignorance. It’s worked for him so far.

Beth looks unimpressed, but thankfully doesn’t call him on it. “We all saw it, after. You and Mark were never subtle.”

Chris knows that, wonders how NASA never picked up on it. He ever thought they’d get this far, on the same ship, working the same mission.

“I called it,” Chris says, using vernacular that seems so natural, but cuts through his chest like a knife. He clenches his hands into fists and doesn’t meet Beth’s eyes. He stares at a spot over her left shoulder, jaw clenched. It takes a while, he forces the words up and out before he can shut them down. “I love him and I left him behind.”

 

 

 

Mark’s watching him from the moment he enters the room.

Martinez and Vogel are both there, both taking up too much space and drawing Mark out of the depressive shell he’s been sinking into. Chris is grateful to them, to Beth and the Commander, because they’re doing what he can’t seem to; forcing Mark out of his own head and back into Hermes life.

Mark’s attention is on Chris, though, eyes tracking the way he moves the room, keeping up a steady routine until Martinez and Vogel can’t help but pick up on the mood.

Martinez hovers after Vogel’s left the room, presses his lips together in a thin line at whatever Mark is silently telling him with his eyes. Chris isn’t jealous, knows Martinez and Mark have a friendship like Chris and Beth, but he doesn’t miss the glare that Rick sends his way as he walks out of the medbay.

“What did I do?” Chris says, before he can stop himself.

“Nothing,” Mark tells him, lips quirking up into a smile. Chris doesn’t think there’s anything to laugh about, but before he can say so, Mark’s pushing himself up, onto his feet. He’s okay in bursts, finds energy from hell knows where and rushes around the Hermes like he’s on fire. He exhausts himself, but nobody can call him on it, not even Chris, because three months ago he was dead. “He’s mad at me.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Chris says, snorting. He turns back to the report on Mark’s health that NASA virtually insists upon being sent every day. Like Chris isn’t preoccupied enough.

Mark rests his hands on Chris’s shoulders and it’s the first time they’ve touched without the pretence of a medical examination between them. Chris can’t, doesn’t want to mar this thing between them. There’s guilt warring with worry in his chest, and he’s always known that the instant Mark gets too close, touches him, _sees him_ , that he’ll know.

“Chris,” Mark says, slowly, carefully. He touches Chris’ face, thumb against Chris’ cheekbone.

“It’s okay,” Chris lies, aiming for a smile and missing by a mile. “You, however-“

“I’ll _be_ fine,” Mark stresses. “What about you?”

Everyone’s asked; Vogel, Beth, Rick. The Commander. Chris lies every time, grits his teeth through the urge to shout that he’s not fine, how can he be, he killed Mark, but it’s only now that his carefully constructed wall crumbles.

Resting his hands on Mark’s hips, Chris closes his eyes, sucks in a deep breath. _I’m not fine_ , he wants to say. _I’m not fine because you died. I told them you died and I left you there._

It spills between them anyway, the words falling like rocks at their feet. Chris wants to take them back, to apologise, but the words don’t come.

“It’s not your fault,” Mark says, voice hard. He digs his thumb into Chris’ shoulder, forces his eyes open. Chris looks, really looks, and can’t swallow past the lump in his throat. Mark looks so much more alive than he did, colour in his cheeks and the smile back in his eyes. Chris feels breathless; he missed that change, just like he missed the smile returning to Mark’s face, the touches he’s been bestowing little by little on everyone. He’s missed _Mark_ even when they’re in the same room. “Chris, tell me you know it’s not.”

Chris can’t.

Mark pulls him down and Chris presses his forehead into Mark’s shoulder. His fingers still fit perfectly against Mark’s hips. Mark still smells the same. Mark still takes up too much space in Chris’s head, in his heart. Mark’s still _Mark_.

“I love you,” Chris says, because he’s already told Beth. He can do this. This is Mark, this is _Mark_. “I love you and I left you to die.”

“You came back for me.” Mark doesn’t refute Chris, doesn’t tell him _no_ and _you didn’t_ and _Chris, stop it_ , because he knows Chris, knows how Chris works. No matter what he says, no matter what anyone says, Chris is never going to believe anything less than he already does; he left Mark to die. “I’m alive, I love you.”

Chris flinches, can’t stop himself, and even if Mark can’t see his face, he _knows_.

“Hey.” Mark pulls back, both hands on Chris’s face. “Chris, I _love_ you.”

Something in Chris breaks, shatters into a million pieces, and for a moment he’s afraid he’ll never be whole again. Mark pulls him in, kisses him softly, gently, and slowly puts Chris back together again.

**Author's Note:**

> i might have to dabble my feet in this fandom again...


End file.
